


Loss Prevention

by esteoric



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Commander Cody Week (Star Wars), Gen, obi wan stop losing your lightsaber challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoric/pseuds/esteoric
Summary: He’s feeling satisfied, relieved, almost in a good mood, even, and that’s when he spots the thin, metal cylinder glinting in the mud a few feet away.Written for Commander Cody Week Day 5: Rest and Recovery / Mischief
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Loss Prevention

On paper, Cody’s General was impressive.

He remembers looking over Obi-Wan Kenobi’s file, the day they were assigned to their superiors. A Master on the Jedi Council, a High General, the poster boy of the Jedi Order. The first Jedi to kill a Sith Lord in a thousand years—as a Padawan, no less.

He was a skilled pilot, swordsman, strategist, and negotiator. He was staunchly loyal to the Republic. Their personalities would complement each other well, the supervisors on Kamino reasoned.

They weren’t wrong; as far as Jedi Generals went, Cody privately thinks he’s gotten the best of the bunch. Bly and Wolffe would fight him on that if he ever voiced it out loud, of course, though perhaps that’s just how it is, between Commanders and their Generals. The good ones, at least.

General Kenobi is easy, even a pleasure, to work with. They come together brilliantly on the field, improvising plans that win battle after battle, even when it seemed like every odd was stacked against them. The 212th’s track record is one of the best in the GAR, despite the fact that they’re regularly thrown at some of the most grueling campaigns the galaxy has seen. Combined with their low casualty count, it’s no insignificant feat.

General Kenobi also makes a genuine effort to remember their names, values their opinions and lives and individuality, has gone out of his way to save troopers’ lives on multiple occasions.

Cody appreciates that.

Off the clock, they get along just as well. He enjoys their easy banter, Kenobi’s quick wit. Cody might even call what they have a friendship. Kenobi certainly acts like it; Cody spends most of his evenings off with him, learning about history and culture, art and science, things that the Kaminoans had never bothered with because they were of no use to a soldier.

Kenobi asks him what he thinks of the books he’s lent Cody, what his favourite foods and holofilms and planets are, what he’d like to do after the war.

Cody appreciates that, too.

Really, there’s very little to complain about. He’s not dumb enough to be anything but grateful for it, all things considered.

But.

+

The battle’s going well, Cody notes. It was fairly simple from the start, just another run-of-the-mill skirmish that’ll barely make a dent in the record, compared to some of the things they’ve been through. Already, it’s pretty much over, his men slowly but surely pushing the clankers back, corralling them into a steep valley.

General Kenobi disappeared some while ago, chasing a distress signal from the leader of the locals. Cody hasn’t heard back yet, but that’s not uncommon. They’re waiting for word of surrender from whichever Separatist leaders coordinated the attack, but even if none comes, he’s confident they can finish off the rest of the droids without further loss to their own resources.

They had been on their way back to Coruscant, in fact, for an entire week of well-deserved leave, when some minor conflict erupted on the tiny, nondescript planet and they were asked to quickly take care of it en route. It’s taken barely a few hours out of their day. He’s looking forward to a few drinks at 79’s, and he’s confirmed that his time off has a day or two of overlap with Wolffe’s and Ponds’.

Cody barks orders at his men, taking cover behind a boulder as they prepare for the final push. The ground is littered with droid parts and there are far fewer brothers down compared to even their most successful campaigns. He’s feeling satisfied, relieved, almost— _almost_ —in a good mood, even, and that’s when he spots the thin, metal cylinder glinting in the mud a few feet away.

He sighs.

For all his prowess on the field, General Kenobi is spectacularly good at getting himself in trouble, whether or not there’s actually any around to be found. His self-preservation instinct must be either dormant or non-existent because he regularly lands in situations where the enemy has the upper hand, more often than not due to the fact that his only weapon and means of defense is on the other side of the planet.

Cody curses, trying not to lose the saber in the mud as he gauges the action. Though the battle is all but won, he still hasn’t heard from Kenobi. He frowns. Radio silence from his General isn’t unusual—but when the lightsaber is at Cody’s feet instead of with its owner, there’s a good chance Kenobi’s having a less than desirable time. 

A large explosion to his left provides a precious gap in the blaster fire and he lunges from his cover, scooping up the saber and rolling behind a downed LAAT in one swift motion. He hooks it to the clip on his belt, a well-practiced move by now, and scans the field again. Enemy fire is dwindling noticeably and troopers are racing past him, whooping victoriously, so Cody turns his attention to tracking down Kenobi.

“General drop his saber again, sir?” comes a voice behind him, and Cody turns to find Boil snickering through his bucket.

“Excellent observation,” he grouses, tapping out an update on his wrist comm to send to the General.

“He’d find a way to lose it even if it was superglued to his hand,” Boil says. “How many times now?”

“I stopped counting after Geonosis.” Cody pauses, an idea slowly forming in his head. If it was superglued to his hand…

He considers Boil through narrowed eyes.

“Sir?”

“Come find me after the battle,” is all Cody says in reply, not entirely sure where he’s going with this, whether or not it’s worth the amount of trouble he might get in. He sets it aside for the time being and follows Boil back into the fray.

+

He’s still turning the idea over in his head when Boil jogs up to him. They’re clearing out the battlefield as fast as they can, getting the wounded back to the _Negotiator_. The locals, thus far neutral in the war, aren’t happy that there are now both Separatist and Republic forces on their planet.

_Not even a thank you for saving their_ shebse, Cody thinks. They wouldn’t be here in the first place if it weren’t for the Seps. But he brushes it aside, because he’s never had any false notions about how the rest of the galaxy viewed the clones.

“Waxer’s on comms with General Kenobi, sir.”

Cody tries to hide his relief. His own wrist comm is useless, damaged in the final assault before he could reach the General.

As he follows Boil across the field, he inspects the lightsaber clacking against his armour. After the first several incidents, after he had finally accepted it wasn’t going to stop any time soon, he had attached a buckle to his belt to keep it safe during battles. It’s surprisingly effective; he hasn’t dropped the damn thing once, and all it took was a strong, elastic cord twisted into a basic loop.

He wonders how effective a loop of a different kind might be, if it were attached to General Kenobi instead of him. The image is solidifying in his mind—

“A wrist strap,” he muses out loud.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says. At Boil’s confused look, he adds, “Just thinking of how to stop the General’s lightsaber from getting away from him all the time.”

Boil’s eyes bug out. “You—you’re going to mess with the General’s _lightsaber_?”

“Of course not,” Cody shoots back. A Jedi’s lightsaber was their life, or so he’s heard Kenobi say, usually to his former apprentice. Considering the series of incidents that have led him to his current line of thought, either his General’s full of _osik_ , or they need to have a rather serious discussion.

“Not permanently,” he continues, more to himself than Boil, thinking out loud. “There aren’t any holes or slots, so there’d need to be some kind of band to wrap around it—strong enough to withstand the stunts he likes to pull, but removable, in case he doesn’t like it…”

Boil’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Such an action would probably get Cody court-martialed, if this were any other Jedi they were talking about. Of course, if it were any other Jedi, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Plus, Kenobi, as he’s come to learn, is a troublemaker at heart. Cody’s confident he knows his General well enough that this wouldn’t be considered out of line.

They stop in front of a hastily erected tent.

Cody unhooks the lightsaber from his belt. “Hold onto this for me. Keep it out of General Kenobi’s sight. I want to surprise him, if I can.”

Boil’s mouth drops open. “You’re actually going to do it.”

“Want to help?”

“If this goes badly, you’re taking the blame.”

Cody grins, and Boil takes the lightsaber, folding his hands behind his back.

They push inside, where Waxer is finishing up his report. Surprisingly, General Kenobi’s flickering, holographic form appears to be in one piece, a far cry from the times Cody’s found him limping and battered, and _without his_ kriffing _lightsaber_.

The longer he thinks about it, the better his idea’s looking.

General Kenobi brightens instantly. “Ah, Cody! I couldn’t seem to reach you earlier.”

Cody holds his arm up, showing the broken comm in explanation. “You’re alright, sir? What happened?”

General Kenobi smiles cheerily. “The Separatist commander here”—he nudges a man, bound and on the floor, into view—“thought it would be a good idea to try to take the Duke hostage, when he sensed the tide was turning against his favour.”

Kenobi beams down at the man, then turns his smile directly into the holocam. “Well done with the droids, Cody, Boil. Waxer’s already given me the numbers.”

Cody fights the blush blooming on his face, feeling Boil fidget next to him. General Kenobi is always generous with the praise; how is it that it _still_ has this effect on them?

“I’ll need to stay a bit longer to discuss the future of the planet’s role in the war,” Kenobi continues. “Have everything ready to go on the _Negotiator_. I’ll wrap this up as quickly as I can, and we’ll leave for Coruscant once I join you. Force knows you’ve all been kept from a proper break long enough.”

“Yes, sir,” they all chorus.

“Oh—and Cody,” General Kenobi adds, just as he moves to end the call, “Er, you wouldn’t happen to have my lightsaber, would you?”

If Cody doesn’t know better, he would swear Kenobi looks _sheepish_. At any rate, it makes him feel less bad about lying.

“Sorry, sir,” he replies smoothly. He’s good at it; he learned from Kenobi himself. And technically, _technically_ , Boil has it.

Waxer’s eyebrows shoot up to where his hairline would normally be.

Kenobi deflates slightly. “Ah, well. It was bound to happen. Will you keep an eye out for it for me? I hope it’s not anywhere near the villages. These things end up on the black market unbelievably fast.”

Cody smothers a laugh. “Of course, sir.”

The image of General Kenobi blinks out, and Waxer pounces with the questions.

+

The technicians and mechanics aboard the _Negotiator_ receive his requests with varying levels of amusement and disapproval but they’re all familiar enough with Kenobi’s antics that even his most rule-abiding brothers approve of his plan.

In the end, they scrounge up a sturdy rubber band that fits snugly against the flared base. Set into it is a small ring clasp, and attached to that is a thick canvas strap, complete with a buckle to adjust for tightness.

Cody is quite proud of it; the band is ridiculously firm and secure, but if the General doesn’t like it, he can simply cut through it with a blade. He slips his hand through the strap, tests the buckle, and gives it a few solid tugs for good measure. Perfect.

+

General Kenobi’s fighter touches down in the hangar. Cody waits for him alone; Waxer and Boil had abandoned him at the entrance—“It’s all on you if it goes badly, remember?”—though he’s pretty sure they’re hidden somewhere close with a holocam.

He’s holding the lightsaber behind his back in parade rest, his heart starting to thud. It had seemed like a good idea planetside. It still does, he tries to reassure himself. He’s seventy percent sure it’ll work. Sixty percent. Fifty-five percent. _Kriff_.

General Kenobi hops out of the fighter. He seems preoccupied—maybe Cody can ask about whatever’s bothering him first, buy some time to do something about the lightsaber.

_Do what?_ he screams at himself as the General approaches. _You’ve gone and_ kriffed _up his_ kriffing _lightsaber!_

“Ah, Cody. Are we all ready for hyperspace?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies. “Did the talks go well?”

General Kenobi heaves a sigh. “Well enough. They have no grievances with the Republic, though they wish to remain neutral. It’s all tied up cleanly, more than I hoped for.”

Cody frowns. He’s not seeing the problem. “Then is everything…?”

“Well, they’re very eager for us to leave. I’m afraid any returns would be received poorly, so… unless you’ve managed to find my lightsaber?”

All of Cody’s earlier worries rush back in full force. He fidgets for a moment, his brain stalling, and General Kenobi misinterprets it as a negative. His face falls.

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. I suppose I can borrow a spare one from the Temple in the meantime. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a new crystal before we’re sent out again—”

“Wait, no—” Cody blurts out, bringing his hands around. He hates that expression on his General. “I do, I have it, I just—” He shoves the lightsaber forward, the wrist strap swinging wildly, and accepts his demise.

General Kenobi freezes, staring at it.

Cody swears at himself silently, viciously. What had he been thinking, overestimating his relationship with the General like that? Taking advantage of his kindness like that, mistaking his dry humour for the half-witted pranks Cody shared with his brothers?

A flood of apologies surges up his throat and he opens his mouth just as General Kenobi bursts into laughter.

Cody stops breathing, not daring to move. _Is—Does he—_ like _it?_

Finally, Kenobi catches his breath. “Oh, I suppose I deserve this. Thank you very much, Cody, this is brilliant. A wrist strap, why didn’t I think of this before?” he says to himself. “Would’ve saved me a fair amount of trouble.” He slips the strap on, making a few more delighted noises when he discovers the fastener, and gives it a few test swings.

“Oh, this is very well made. Did you do this?” And his eyes are sparkling, something like approval glinting in them.

Cody’s legs nearly give out, so great is his relief. “Some of the men down in engineering helped, sir,” he manages.

“At ease, Cody. Pass my appreciation along to them, will you? And thank you, really.” Kenobi pauses. “I hadn’t realized just how much you do for me.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m glad to help.”

Kenobi shakes his head. “Still… what would I do without you,” he murmurs.

Cody can’t seem to answer; his throat has gone strangely tight. General Kenobi doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer, anyway. He’s just looking at Cody fondly, _affectionately_ , and Cody wishes desperately that he had his bucket on. _What would_ we _do without_ you, he wants to say. Risking his life for Cody and his brothers, defending them against belittling senators, offering his books and conversations to Cody so readily and freely.

He holds it back, though. He’s had enough of toeing boundaries for a while.

Finally, Obi-Wan says, “I know you must be looking forward to your leave, and you’ve more than earned it—but if it’s alright with you, would you join me for a cup of tea this evening?”

He doesn’t even have to think twice about accepting.


End file.
